In The Making of An Indie Film
by PlatinumPixels
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, once a well-known movie director, sets out to make his name big again; All with the help of a young, aspiring American producer and a French muse. T for language and mildly suggestive themes. Human AU.
1. The Inspiration

**So this is one of my first "serious" story series that I am doing. It's a small idea I got today [since I was looking up on Indie films] and decided to write it out. I hope people will be able to enjoy it aside from my smut and crack work, since I'm a pretty well-rounded person when it comes to writing. Well, this might be an England x France fic, but nothing too over the top. Don't worry, I'll be sure to warn if anything, but don't expect too much from it. I'll end up using a lot of my atrocious French in this series, so don't be shy with corrections. Anyhoo, enjoy. **

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The sound of rapid keys of the typewriter echos off the walls of the empty room. Although, it was not quite empty-in the sense of crumpled papers littering the laminate floors and books stacked proudly on the mahogany desk-but it lacked something. The man typing away stopped, groaning. Snatching the paper out of the machine, he crumpled it, dropping it on the floor to join with the other forgotten papers.

"I haven't figured out anything to write about and it's been a good _three weeks_!" the blond-haired man growled, lighting a cigarette ,"Bloody hell, I'm getting old".

He took a long drag of the cigarette, soon releasing a sizable cloud of smoke through his nose. The bitter scent of ash and nicotine refilled the man's lungs, making him cough a bit. The smell already lingered to his clothing, due to his stress induced by his failed playwrights. Arthur Kirkland had once basked in the glory days of being a large director of movies and enjoyed every minute of it. He would attend grand parties-thrown in celebration of his new film, _of course_-and speak to important people. He would be stopped by paparazzi on the streets, whether he would be out for his daily stroll around the city or he would be out grocery shopping. Eventually, it would all die down.

_Nothing good ever lasts._

His movies would not take off as they used to-due to new rival industries. No one would understand the subtle messages in his movie, which made people skip out on his well thought-out films for something more action-packed-which was mostly something involving cheap violent scenes and dirty sex scenes. Ticket sales plummeted drastically and Arthur was out of a job. He hammered out playwrights in a time frame of two weeks-where he usually stayed up with the assistance of his record player or a shot of 'high spirits' or two. The film companies denied playwright after playwright, but when he finally did find someone to accept his proposal, a script was expected within a week. That's when his tobacco addiction kicked in.

A month back, he had finally polished up his script and managed to get it to his 'boss' in a matter of minutes before the deadline was cut off.

"_God, you look terrible",_ the man commented on the Englishman's appearance, averting his eyes to the script. He thumbed through it with glazed eyes and handed it back to him _,"I'm sorry , but I expected more when I read through this. Tell you what, I'm not supposed to be doing this, but I'll give you a month to rewrite this, and only a month. And you better look pretty damn decent than you do right now"._

Arthur sat back, letting an audible sigh emit from his throat ,"Guess I'll go out for a bit..."

He got up from his wooden chair and slipped the jacket off the coat rack by the door, heading out of his apartment flat. It was a gloomy windy day-as it always was in March-and the sky had shown no signs of the sun's warm rays beaming through the murky ashy clouds. The blond man strolled over to a bus stop, leaning against a brass bulletin of the bus routes. He glanced around, watching as people pass by and cars drive through the narrow streets, honking at the other delayed vehicles. It felt so different being outside, present to the world, but yet, now being noticed. People would pass by without a slight glance, only a bump of shoulders followed by an exchange of _"excuse me"_'s. He felt invisible.

_Almost as if I don't exist._

Arthur noticed another man stopping beside him, holding an umbrella. He has wavy blond hair that reached down to his shoulders and radiant sapphire eyes, that seemed just as playful as his smile. The man looked over at Arthur, nodding his head.

"Pretty windy today, oui?" the man asked with a nasally- yet melodic- accent.

"Ahh, yes", the Englishman answered, pulling out a small box of cigarettes. He looked over at the man, holding out the box to him ,"Care for a fag?"

"Non, I do not smoke", the man shook his head, smiling apologetically ,"It is... très mauvais, oui?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Bad, oui?" he repeated, laughing a bit ,"I am sorry, I do not speak too fluent English".

The Englishman nodded, lighting his cigarette ,"Yes, I see".

The French man studied Arthur a bit more, his gracious eyes widening a bit ,"Mon dieu! You are the director Monsieur Kirkland, oui?"

Arthur looked at him with equally-shocked emerald eyes ,"Why yes, I am..."

_He actually knows who I am?_

"I just adore your films", the blond-haired man complimented ,"My, what a grand honor to meet you! I am called Francis".

"A pleasure", the Englishman gulped, shaking his hand.

"So, Monsieur Kirkland", the French man smiled ,"Where are you off to?"

Arthur looked up at the gloomy sky, pondering _,'Yes, where am I off to?'_

"To tell you the truth? I haven't the slightest idea, really".

Francis laughed lightly ,"Surely that cannot be true? Are you off to a grande fête-oh, pardon-I mean a... big party for your latest premiere, oui?"

"N-No, I haven't made a film, let alone a _debut_, in years", Arthur explained, taking a drag from his cigarette ,"All I've been doing is running to all these people who are actually willing to read my playwrights and getting each of them denied. I also have a bloody script due in a week or less, and God forbid that won't get done".

"That is too bad to hear, Monsieur Kirkland", the man looked at him remorsefully ,"But I do wish for your script to be finished. Ah, here's my bus, I do hope we will meet again! Au revoir, Monsieur Kirkland!"

Arthur watched the bus drive off, putting out the butt of his cigarette with his shoe ,"I hope so too.."

He sauntered back to his flat, somewhat more hopeful with his script. He felt ideas rushing through his head-no, _playing_ in his head just as if it were a movie scene. He can visualize the actors and the emotions they share for each other. He threw his coat onto his brass hanger, running over to his typewriter as he typed away. Never has he felt this inspired in years.

_Is this what I needed?_

After hours of sitting at his typewriter-and this time, no abandoned papers scattering on the floor-he got off his chair, stretching his arms a bit; He was quite content that he could actually get some sleep that night. He cleared off his bed-which used to be a make-shift shelf-of all the books and camera films that resided on the mattress. With an audible, yet muffled, _thud, _he sprawled out on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

_How is it that I got all of these ideas? Did I actually need someone to talk to?_

He realized that he hadn't spoke to anyone for a while. He closed off all contact with his old friends-that he made back then during his filming career-and even family members. He would avoid any reunions or toss out letters carelessly, not wanting to be _disturbed_ from his work. Is this all he needed? A simple talk? He closed his eyes, drifting off into well-needed sleep.

_Yes._


	2. The Script

**Sorry for taking forever on my updates. Schoolwork is currently trying to become the end of me-as well as Facebook. Anyhoo, since I went through Spring Break with a dying cell phone, a chapter on the Great War, and a YouTube account, I was finally able to gather inspiration for a few stories and finish this damn chapter :D So enjoy and whatnot~ Reviews and Alerts motivate me, and I must thank the lovely people who do fuel me currently~**

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The blond Englishman let out an air of finality, holding up a stack of papers proudly ,"Finally! It's done!"

After a few days, Arthur managed to complete his revision on his previous script. Each day he would wake up with a flood of ideas and hammer them out with his typewriter-which he sometimes included too much of. To his surprise, he was somehow able to get his daily requirement of sleep _and_ finish a good thirty scenes within a short amount of time.

He straightened out his papers and put them into his dark leather briefcase. He rose from the too-familiar chair as he looked out the window: It was the same gloomy March day. Sighing, he slipped on his jacket, grabbing his briefcase and his pack of cigarettes.

'_I really have to quit this horrid routine', _the Englishman thought to himself, lighting the cigarette.

He stepped out of the apartment, huffing out a cloud of smoke. A hand in his pocket, he slowly walks over to the bus stop, glancing up at the sky. Even though it was bleak and somber, he could have sworn a ray of light peaked out from the clouds.

_Could it be a sign?_

Arthur glanced around the white room, trying to occupy himself while he waited. The secretary scribbling away on a sheet of paper caught his eye; Not necessarily because she was good-looking, but really, it was how she was dressed. The woman had thin round glasses pushed up to the bridge of her nose and her copper-red hair was pinned up into a messy bun. A thin navy sweater was draped over her shoulders, with a blush-pink blouse hugging close to her skin.

'_Odd color selection...'_, the Englishman mused to himself.

The scribbling stopped, the void of silence within the room soon filled with the clacking of heels- black, to be precise. She peeked into the next room, closing the door after a moment to face the blond.

"He's ready to see you", the woman announced, walking back to her work. Smoothing her navy down-to-her-knee skirt, she sat down promptly, picking up the pen and continues to scribble.

Arthur adjusted his tie, wiping the cold sweat off his brow as he turned the brass doorknob. He entered the extravagant office, which was decorated by exquisite artworks and Persian rugs. The decor choice of his 'boss' even made the Englishman more tense than he was already.

"Ah, Arthur", the man sitting at the desk stood up, holding out his hand ,"You look much better than last time".

The blond nodded, shaking his hand ,"Q-Quite".

"Have a seat", his 'boss' motioned over to an empty seat before his grand desk-which was covered with business cards and other important documents ,"So, do you have the script for me?"

"Yes sir", the Englishman nodded tensely, fumbling with the lock on his case. He pulled out the script-after opening the case in a clumsy manner-and handed it over to his 'boss'.

The man took the papers, thumbing over each page of the extensive script. With every page or so, Arthur noticed the man doing a different range of expressions: Raising of the eyebrows, a small nod, a whispered sound of awe. His 'boss' finally put down the papers, letting out a content sigh.

"I have to say, this is much better than your last script", he admitted ,"Yeah, I think this is good stuff. Alright, here's what we'll do now: We're going to set up a meeting with a few willing producers and pick out the perfect one for this project. I'm telling you, Arthur, you keep coming out with these gems, and you'll be back to your big director days in no time".

"Ah... t-thank you!" the blond stood up abruptly, shaking his hand ,"I-I really appreciate it!"

"Oh no, thank _you_, Mr. Kirkland", the man grinned, handing back the script to the ecstatic Englishman ,"I will see you back here tomorrow. Ten o'clock-Sharp".

"Yes sir. Thank you, again. Goodbye", Arthur managed to say before he burst out into a fit of laughs. If his sanity wasn't in check, he would have skipped out of the office and swoop the secretary-that was now eyeing him as if he has escaped from a mental asylum-off her feet for a joyful kiss.

The Englishman found himself wander into a cafe-and not so sure why. Maybe it was all that excitement brewing within his mind that brought him over here?

'_I am feeling quite peckish... and thirsty while at it'_, he slumped down by a small empty table, tapping his fingers against the surface of it. He saw a waiter pass by ,"E-Excuse me..."

The man turned around ,"Oui Mo- Oh, Monsieur Kirkland! Allo!"

"Francis? You work here?" the Englishman cocked his head, musing to himself ,"Isn't this quite coincidental?"

"Oui, très 'coincidental'", the Frenchman gave a light laugh ,"May I get you a coffee, Monsieur Kirkland?"

"I would prefer some Earl Grey tea, if it's no trouble", Arthur requested.

"Oui, of course", Francis smiled ,"I will be right back".

After a few minutes, the blond came back with two cups on a small tray. He sat down across from the Englishman, setting down his tea gently-as you please-and placing the other cup in front of himself.

"A-Are you sure we can talk during your work?" Arthur asked, taking a hesitant sip of his beverage ,"I don't want to be any trouble to you or your boss".

"Oh non, c'est pas un problème", Francis took a quick sip of his before correcting himself ,"Pardon, I meant to say it is not a problem, my boss will not mind".

The emerald-eyed man gave a small smile ,"That's good".

The Frenchman looked over at his briefcase, his sapphire eyes widening in surprise ,"Oh, have you finished your script?"

Arthur looked at his forgotten case and back at Francis ,"Why yes it is. I finally finished it last night and had it approved by my 'boss' today".

"Oh, that is good news", the sapphire-eyed man smiled ,"And when will you begin on the filming?"

"Ah, well, I am meeting with a producer tomorrow, so I might start very soon", the Englishman replied, taking another blissful sip of his tea.

"Génial! Oh, I mean, great!" the Frenchman commented, finishing his drink ,"I do hope you will invite me to see the progress of your film, oui?"

"Of course I will", Arthur answered, finishing his drink and leaving a couple of dollars on the table ,"I best be off now. I'll be sure to come back tomorrow".

Francis glanced at the large amount speechlessly ,"M-Merci Monsieur Kirkland..."

"Don't mention it", the blond replied, lifting his briefcase off the floor ,"A good evening to you, Francis".

"Oui", the sapphire-eyed man waved to him, smiling ,"à toute à l'heure!"

The Englishman walked out of the cafe, taking in a deep breath.

'_Looks like it's about to rain any minute', _Arthur lit a new cigarette, taking a lingering drag from it _,'Should have taken an umbrella with me...'_

He walked through the streets at a quick pace, trying to beat the downpour to his flat. He threw down half of the cigarette on the sidewalk, putting it out with a quick stamp of the foot, before walking into the building. The door for his flat swung open, allowing the Englishman to flop down on his bed in exhaustion. Suddenly drunk with fatigue, his eyes began to close as he gave a small yawn.

'_Who would have figured I would have been so worn out, and at this time?'_

He slipped off his jacket at the foot of his bed, along with his shoes. He lied on his bed for a while, pondering over the meeting tomorrow:

'_I wonder what my producer will be like? I hope he'll be a good bloke...'_

His thoughts began to fade away, making him drift off into a deep slumber. The next day, he would learn that his producer was much more than he could have asked for.


	3. The Producer

**So I'm back from my writer's block. Finally, right? I probably lost so many watchers and fans because of my sluggish updates. Between summer homework and get-togethers, I just can't find the time to sit down and actually hammer out a few chapters for my story. Hence I am back from the "dead" with an update! *cue noisemakers and confetti* Now if you don't mind, I shall actually start on my other stories~ Enjoy please~**

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"There he is!" the man laughed, motioning over to the Englishman ,"Mr. Arthur Kirkland, the next big Hollywood director!"

The Englishman beamed, nodding to the group of people huddled by his 'boss' ,"A-Ah good day. Please sir, I am humbled".

"Oh don't be so modest, Arthur!" the man threw an arm around the blond-haired man, guiding him over to the desk to retrieve a cigar from a small drawer ,"For you".

"Oh no thank you sir, I really-" the object was stuck into his mouth, cutting off his decline.

"Now now Arthur, we're celebrating you! Come on, let loose for a bit!" the man chuckled, handing the Englishman a glass of spirits promptly before lighting the cigar hanging loosely from his lips.

The blond-haired man inhaled for a while, taking in the bittersweet aroma of the lit cigar. Out he breathed a long cloud of smoke, allowing it to linger onto his jacket. He set the cigar on the large ashtray resting on his boss' desk, raising the glass of the cool amber liquid to his lips, followed by a hesitant sniff. Whiskey. He took a small sip, surprised by the strong taste of it mingling with the smoky essence of the cigar. Definitely whiskey; and not the cheap kind.

He forgot the perks that came with being a big-time Hollywood director. Aside for the workload of editing, filming, and dealing with the drama of the actors, it paid off at the end; exclusive parties that would serve only the finest of foods and the best of alcohols that would compliment one's palette perfectly. This one moment of glory that he can relive with a simple glass of whiskey and a cigar was enough to recall a flood of nostalgia to overwhelm him.

"Oh Arthur", the man snapped the Englishman out of his reminiscing ,"I'd like for you to meet your new producer that you will be working with".

The tall man walked over to the door, turning the brass knob and letting the tall door swing open. A young man stepped into the room. He looked as if he were in his early twenties-much younger than Arthur. It was almost as if her were glowing. The young man's eyes were the second thing that he noticed; there was a flame within the sapphire irises. Somehow, the young man reminded the Englishman of his youthful years when he first dove into the filming business-so anxious and excited.

A flame that could not be extinguished. He used to have that flame; the inferno that would lick at his emerald irises. A flame that was long gone, replaced by emptiness. Where has it gone?

He watched as the young man strolled over to him, sticking out his hand and flashing a toothy grin ,"Name's Alfred F. Jones".

The Englishman returned the gesture, nodding his head ,"Arthur Kirkland. A pleasure".

The young man pulled his hand away, running a hand through his untamed, dirty-blond hair ,"Of course I know who you are! My folks watched a ton of your movies".

"Have they now?" the Englishman replied, not surprised with his comment. No one this young have ever seen a clip or two from his movies, let alone a whisper of any of his titles.

"This is just so unbelievable! I'm standing in front of my parent's favorite movie directors! And I'm producing your next hit!" Alfred grinned, chuckling ,"Hey, do you mind if you could give me an autograph or something for my folks?"

"Erm... Sure. I guess..." Arthur shut his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath.

"Great! Hey, you think you could go over some of my ideas for the movie?" the young man excitedly asked, pulling out a small black book from his briefcase.

"Well, I already have a few ideas for th-" he was cut off and the dirty-blond haired man stuck the notebook right under his nose, urging him to take them. He sighed in defeat, taking them ,"I supposed I cloud glance over them..."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Kirkland!" the young man gushed, grinning again ,"It was nice meeting you finally!"

"Quite." Arthur nodded, walking to the door ,"It's about time for me to leave. Good evening, everyone".

His 'boss' waved from his tall desk, taking a small sip from his glass ,"Thank you Arthur. A good evening to you too! Be sure to call if anything comes up!"

The Englishman curtly nodded ,"I will". He strolled out of the office building, making his way to the stop. He sat down on a vacant bench, looking down at the cover of the book handed to him by Alfred. Hesitantly, he opened it, trying to make out the scribbles on the sheets of lined paper.

"Explosions? Girls in inappropriate clothing? Cars driving off bridges? What in the hell...?" the blond haired man continued to read, appalled by the lists of things that would appeal to only a younger audience.

He shut the book, stuffing it into his case ,"Good God, I wouldn't be caught dead filming something involving these kinds of things..."

The Englishman glanced up at the usually-gloomy sky, letting out a frustrated sigh ,"Rain. Again".

Just then, the small bus arrived at the stop, its doors creaking open. Arthur promptly picked up his case, stepping into the vehicle. As he glanced out the window, he realized that his movie was no longer his. It would no longer be the style that he would usually film in. He would have to strive to appeal to a younger audience from now on.

But how?


End file.
